Survival Shenanigans With Elf Mistress

Chapter 11 Freedom Is A Bitch!

I generally like to think that people are inherently good. Given the right conditions, they treat each other well, right? That wasn't true for my new mistress, Ellara Voss, or at least, not all the time, for the wrong reason.

One moment, she'd be Light-Ellara, with her soft smiles and apologetic glances. Her slender, Hollywood-esque frame moved with the grace of a woodland princess, explaining to me things as a patient teacher.

The next, she'd flip to Dark-Ellara. Her body would swell into those comic-book curves that made my mouth dry. The worst part of it was she'd turn into a total domina, barking orders and zapping me for the slightest mistake.

Ellara refused to tell me why it happened. Perhaps it was childhood trauma, or something magical. Regretfully, I couldn't get my hands on either of those bodies.

But damn, when she went dark, it got lewd for me. She'd kick me or pin me down with her foot. Her voice also sounded slightly husky as she whispered threats that made my blood run hot.

Days dragged on like a bad road trip with no radio. I remembered Ellara had finally accepted me as her protector in that forest clearing.

Her kinder side had beamed at me then, but the journey since had been a whirlwind of her personality switches, keeping me on edge as we pushed deeper into Arcadia's wilds.

Now, I trailed the Medley Elf like a whipped dog, my "protector" title feeling like a dad joke.

The collar wasn't always in material form, but it didn't have to be. Its non-presence was a constant reminder of my "freedom," especially after that grueling test where I'd stood against her magical weights to prove my worth.

Back on Earth, freedom meant flipping off your boss and quitting for a beach gig. Here, it meant not getting zapped for staring too long at Elf ass. Which, in Dark-Ellara's form, was worth it. That massive rump jiggled with every step like it was designed to torment me.

"Human life is overrated bullshit," I thought, disillusioned, while trudging through forests that a stoned artist probably designed.

Ogling Ellara's assets secretly was the only limited privilege allowed to me. I hoped she wouldn't start billing me for the OnlyFans preview, though with her switches, Light-Ellara might blush and look away, while Dark-Ellara would grind her heel into my chest.

In summation, Akira, you dumb fuck, you were isekai'd from a cubicle slave to a literal slave.

Anyway, enough rambling. Back to simping. Ellara never let me stray beyond eyesight, like a paranoid landlady checking up on her tenant's activities.

Except for daily chores—pissing, shitting, the basics that make life real. During her pee breaks, wardrobe changes, or river baths, Light-Ellara would gently put the weights on me and leave, as she whispered, "Just for safety, protector. Please don't mind."

Dark-Ellara would slap those heavy manacles on, sometimes cackling with glee. "Stay, dog!"

"Good boy," she'd purr, once she returned to free me.

I'd lie there most days, nose in mud, hearing her splash or rustle. Naturally, one would be tempted to peek for a glimpse of elf goods. But nah, man, it wasn't worth the electrocution.

I wondered what would happen if I flashed her my dick during my turn? She always watched my back while I pissed, like a sentinel, her eyes on my ass or something. That was another bad idea, since she probably could turn my thing into a turnip without letting me finish.

Thus, my morbid adventure went on, filled with silent meals, as we slurped stew without any chat. I could see no progress on her so-called quest for the Medley Staff. Where were we going? Running in circles?

It started getting me impatient as hell. I finally snapped and confronted her by the campfire one night, playing the only card I had left after proving my strength.

"Look, Miss Elf, I have a secret. I'm not from this world. I was transmigrated here from a planet called Earth, where there is no magic. A nobody like me would be useless to your ambitious goals. Let me go. Kindly. I'll find my own way back or whatever." Light-Ellara poked the fire with a stick, acting as uninterested as a cat ignoring a toy. "I already know you're an otherworlder. Chernobog summoned you."

I blinked, having my big reveal shot down like it was nothing. Chernobog? He sounded like a villain from a Marvel flop or a heavy metal band. "Who? And why? Why did he bring me here?"

The Elf shook her head, her eyes flickering along with the flames. Then it happened again. Her body shifted, swelling into Dark-Ellara's Wonder Woman form.

"That is all you need to know right now, slave. Focus on serving your position, or if you fancy yourself a protector after that little display."

She leaned closer, her ample cleavage heaving as she traced a finger along my collar, sending shivers down my spine. "Earn your keep… Or I'll make you earn it on your knees."

I clenched my jaw, my mind racing with lewd thoughts despite the threat. 'I'd like to serve you breakfast in bed... naked,' I thought. 'After a night of endless lovemaking in all your holes.'

But to voice my thoughts aloud would be to be zapped into oblivion.

The next evening, I got curious. I approached her at the fireplace, shifting closer and pretending to be cold.

Blimp! Unexpectedly, the furnace menu popped into my vision. Its holographic over the flames was a sight for sore eyes.

The sections lit up like a video game HUD: CRAFT, ENHANCE, KITCHEN, RECYCLE. "Fire's my friend," I realized.

It appeared I could craft anywhere with a heat source. The location was irrelevant as long as there were flames.

I smiled at her awkwardly, backing off with my secret. This was my only edge over her now, my ace in the hole after proving myself. I needed to keep it close to the heart, especially with her switches, making her unpredictable.

Dark-Ellara loosened up on the silent treatment after a few days. "It's time for your education, spare. Let me explain to you the races of the continent we are on—Arcadia.